Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Anecdotes

ANECDOTES

LOVELY SUN RA

This story is an old one around the Sydney jazz scene. I don’t remember who told me the story or even the exact details, but it goes something like this:

It must have been in the 70’s when aussie piano player/arranger Mick Kenny was in LA doing some hanging out & checking out some clubs & bands. Now Mick in those days was a laconic, bearded character, who’s eyes betrayed the glazed look of the permanently stoned.

Mick fetched up at a club one night to catch Sun Ra do his thing and was knocked out with the band. They finished the set and as Sun Ra walked past the table where Mick was seated, Mick couldn’t contain himself and had to say something. As their eyes met, Mick’s Aussie drawl compliment caused Sun Ra to raise his eyebrows…..“Lovely Son!” he said and raised his beer in salute.

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THE BBQ.

Many years ago Jazz bass player Deiter Voight had just returned to Australia from visiting relatives in Switzerland. Having grown up in Switzerland, Deiter spoke and still speaks English with a strong Swiss accent. He decided to throw a BBQ at his place to catch up with his mates and celebrate the warm summer he’d just come back to.

He and a couple of mates went to the local butcher shop and began stocking up on meat. They bought 20k of steaks, 35k of sausages, 15k of rissoles…and as the butcher was tallying up the bill, he inadvertently commented… "having a big barbie mate?”

Deiter’s reply was his usual deadpan dry genius… "No, ve are buildink a cow…”

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MUTINY ON THE QEII

Back in 1982 I was part of the Morrison Brothers Big Bad Band. We received a booking to play a concert on the Queen Elizabeth II while it was docked at the old overseas passenger terminal in the Rocks. The call was for 6pm and when we assembled in the ballroom of the ship, the entertainment promoter for the QEII, one Bartholomew John, (usually a land locked club performer) advised us that there had been a mistake and that we weren’t required ‘till 7:30. He gave us his room number and said to go to the bar and charge some drinks & relax ‘till we were needed. Now this was an 18 pc band…jazz band…what was he thinking? The guys proceeded to order bottles of Moet, Scotch…beers and indulge in other things not on the menu…until the prescribed time.

It’s amazing how pissed 18 guys can get in an hour and a half, but we found our way back to the ballroom where we were given the running order. We were to play a set and then, because the stage had no wings, we were to sit in our seats or on the floor just off the stage (a small riser about a foot off the deck) while classical pianist Roger Woodward played a piece of about 5min duration. Our piano player was Bobby Ghebert, who had taken the advice to “relax” to another level and was visibly unsteady on his feet. Bob was supposed to get off the piano stool at the end of our set, take his music and walk to the side, to allow Roger to sit at the piano.

We careened through our set, and when we finished Glen Hendrich (vibes) and me sat off to the side of the stage… Glen in front of me…just below the piano stool. We looked up and Bob hadn’t moved. He was sitting, looking at his music with a big grin on his face as though he couldn’t believe he’d just negotiated those charts (Bob always played great in spite of…well…anything) . James was on the other side of the band …. "psst.. Bob…come on man…get off the stand” Bob suddenly realized what was happening and got up, walked around the front of the band, got halfway, realized he’d left his charts and turned back …got his charts off the piano, turned around again and walked straight into Woodward…and dropped the charts. You must remember that the audience were sitting watching all of this from about three meters away and there now was a spotlight on Bobs frantic gathering of sheets of music. Unfazed, Woodward swept to the piano and with a flourish pulled the stool back and made to sit down. Now remember that Glen & I were sitting under the piano stool, off stage. We watched in horror as one leg of the stool came off the riser…quick as a flash, Glen (who is a large man) jammed his foot, heel down with his toe under the leg of the stool just in time to get the full weight of Woodward as he sat down…and proceeded to launch straight into his piece. I watched on while Glen stoically kept the performance aloft (literally) with his left foot . By the time Roger reached the crescendo, beads of sweat were running freely from Glens’ face. The final chord, thunderous applause, Woodward stood and made his exit, Glen extracted the foot and began massaging life back into it…jeez Glen, that was above & beyond the call man..

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THE NAKED LESSON

I enter this anecdote with no intended disrespect to the party involved.

My Monday morning impro class at the Con is a constant source of humor…the students are often jaded from a big weekend, half asleep…you know…Mondayitis.

On a Monday a few years ago I had in my class the talented blind piano player Scott Ericson. Scott was running late and arrived at class sporting a heavy sweater as it was winter, found his way to the piano (which I was sitting next to) , groped for the lid, opened it and played a few chords. He suddenly realized it was hot in the room, so he began to take off his sweater. As the sweater came up his shirt came up too and was nearly over his head when I said … “Yeah Scott man, you may as well get naked….we all are…”

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LONG DISTANCE AUDIENCE

In '90 I was in Interlaken Switzerland with the James Morrison band. We had played a concert one night & the next morning I wondered into the breakfast room at the hotel we were staying in, piled up some continental on a plate, spotted the sound guy from the night before and sat down next him. He was a local with the heavy accent on his English:

“ That James Morrrison plays goot trombone… " he offered, spooning grapes onto his musli.

“ Yeah” I agreed

“ I play the trombone” he passed me the look..you know…I’m a cat too, not just a sound guy.

“Oh Yeah, that’s cool.” I murmered, wedging ham into a roll.

Wishing to offer further particulars of his career, he said,

“ I used to play Alpenhorn…but I stopped…is not goot for concert…”

“Why is that ?” I inquired

“The audience has to be a lonk way off”

“ How far?”

“About 20 kilometer”…

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I read today in the paper a book review on a book written by Abe Saffron’s son Alan. Having played the Cross during the 70’s when Abe ran the place (Paradise Jazz Cellar was one of his joints) I was taken by this anecdote of Abe in the review:

And then there was Frank Sinatra. Saffron and a partner brought him out for a tour in ’59 & put him up at the Chevron. Saffron, who was notoriously mean, became troubled by Sinatra’s expenses, especially his huge phone bill, and went to Sinatras room to plead for moderation.

“This” Alan notes “was one of the few times where my father was laughed at and told to get lost, in a few choice words to the effect of …’Fuck you Abie baby’ “

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KEEP YOUR DAYJOB

Great jazz drummer Barry Stewart told me this one ages ago.

Barry was working a club with the incredible Ricky May one night and the regular bass player had sent in a deputy who, while reasonably competent was not a professional player. The bass player struggled through the first set and when the band took a break, Ricky said to Barry… “Who is that bass player?”

“Oh don’t be too hard on him Ricky…he’s a panel beater by day” Barry confessed.

Ricky eyed the bass player over his shoulder…

“And by night!”..

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Legendary drummer Len Barnard's one line review of John Sangster's book-

"It's the kind of book that when you put it down...you can't pick it up"

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DANGER-MEN AT WORK

Bebop vocalist Giacomo Gates told me this one. He was booked to play a gig with guitarist Joe Beck and when he arrived at the venue, Joe was on the bandstand setting up his amp. There was a grand piano on the stand and a guy with a prosthetic arm was tuning it. As Giacomo approached Joe, Joe nodded toward the piano tuner and quietly said.. “ Jeez, I didn’t know piano tuning was such a dangerous gig…”

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GIMME SHELTER

In 1979 thru ‘81 the Jamie Abersold Jazz clinics came to Australia & did one week summer workshops in each capital. They were brilliant clinics where we were able to be tutored by people like: Dave Leibmann, Freddy Hubbard, John Schofield and Adam Nusbaum. One year our ensemble teacher was the one and only Hal Galper. We had a great ensemble with Dale Barlow- tenor , Shmoe.. a tenor player from Adelaide, Paul Macnamurra on piano, Clive Harrison- bass, me on guitar, and Mark Reilly on drums (Mark was a dynamite drummer and the rising star of the scene when he was killed in a motorbike accident in about ’83) and he had just bought the newly invented bass drum pedal with two beaters (Billy Cobham had made them famous). Mark had prodigious technique and he could get a drum roll happening on the bass drum while he plastered independent rudiments over the top.

We were going thru a standard & swapping 8’s with the drums. Mark was wailing…a veritable blur behind his kit…bass drum sounding like a pneumatic drill, bits of drumstick flying about…suddenly Galper runs over in front of the drums eyes bulging (Hals' eyes can look a little “Marty Feldman” at times) holding up his hands and yelling for Mark to stop. The drums ground to a halt… Mark looked up at Galper who was obviously trying to contain himself. Glaring at Mark he stammered…. “What the fuck are you trying to do man? MAKE IT RAIN!”

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PRESSING ON

The dear old press from time to time, tear themselves away from the hum and the drum and use their headlines to trumpet something decidedly hip. I'll never forget buying the "Herald" recently and being eager to read the article entitled " FELONIOUS MONK". Apparently the cops had arrested some fraudulent monk...I can just see the editor rubbing his hands together thinking..."I've been waiting my whole life to use this headline!"...

And what about the celebrated classic in the London times years ago when John Major was the UK Prime Minister. The Group of Seven (now Eight) or G7 had met in Europe and made a resolution to meet with John Major. The next morning The Times had splashed across the front page..." G7 RESOLVES TO SEE MAJOR"

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GETTING OFF LIGHTLY

In the early eighties I was part of a social cricket team that boasted many of Sydney’s jazz musicians. Warwick (Wacka) Alder, Dave Pudney, Jay Stewart, Willy Qua and myself were in the regular line up known locally as the “Thrill seekers” .

One night after a particularly big win the celebrations ended at a party thrown by one of the team members. Warwick and myself were sitting in the kitchen enjoying some ales. Just across from us a character known to me as a local rugby player was busy “chatting up” a girl and as part of his technique removed his shirt, revealing an Arnold Schwarzenegger type torso. Warwick immediately started to deride the guy to the effect of “ ahh put on yer shirt mate!” “like yer muscles” that sort of thing…not a good idea. The rugby player took offence and suddenly grabbed Wacka by the throat.. I got in between them and tried to pour water on the situation by saying “ Don’t hit him mate…he’s a trumpet player” The rugby player cooled down, let go of Wacka and went back to chatting, consoling himself with the odd murderous glance in Wacka’s direction.

Wacka was still giving the guy lip so I hustled him up and got him out the back door to go home. To get to the street we had to walk down a side path beside the house. As we passed the kitchen door, it suddenly swung open revealing the rugby player brandishing a fire extinguisher. Laughing madly he turned it on Wacka…who held his hands over his head and ended up laying on the ground while rugby gleefully covered him with white foam from head to toe. The extinguisher ran out and rugby disappeared back inside leaving me to pick up Wacka. I got him to his feet and started to wipe off the foam… “Look at that” Wacka was pointing at the ground. I looked down and there, like a police imprinting of a fatality, was Wackas’ outline on the footpath…I still think he got off lightly.

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Horst Leopold, Ex German, one time manager of the Galapagos Duck, part owner of “The Basement” and in later years “Sweet Basil” in New York, was quoted as saying in the 70’s (when his grasp of English was tenuous) :

“People think I know fuck nothing about jazz…but I tell you…I know FUCK ALL!”

His other famous line was when the Duck met Queen Elisabeth. Being introduced to Horst, their manager, the Queen decided that she would extract a bit of information from him about the band.

QE: “ I say, what kind of music do these fellows play?”

HL: “ Baby they shvink unt Grooff their asses off”

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